


Just to Clear the Air

by kayura_sanada



Series: For Good [27]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: FINALLY I GET TO WRITE SOME HAPPY FENM!HAWKE, Fluff, Groping, Kissing, M/M, Nearly PWP, Oral Sex, Orgasm, Return Of the Sub-Plot, Sex, Touching, WAFF, mentions of past rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 06:46:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13805703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayura_sanada/pseuds/kayura_sanada
Summary: Fenris and Hawke love one another. That morning, they decide to show it.





	Just to Clear the Air

Fenris woke up next to Hawke.

He was used to windows being in different places in the room he awoke to, and used to a different feeling around his body. A sheet, no blankets, usually not covering him in case he had to fight. But here, getting under the covers when night had come had simply been natural; Hawke had slid beneath without a second thought. Fenris, having stayed the entire day, roaming the mansion while Hawke spoke with Bodahn about his decision to make his home Fenris’, if he should desire it, had found it almost more odd to leave when he could stay.

That wasn’t to say he wanted to move in. Hawke also hadn’t pushed the point in any way – something he was learning Hawke never did with him. The decision was his. Hawke was simply paving the path, should he choose it.

Hawke had watched almost wide-eyed as he’d stripped down to join him. The last time he’d stripped in front of the man, there had been little time for either of them to enjoy what they were seeing. Fenris knew he looked a sight; the lyrium markings covered every inch of his skin, from his fingertips down to his toes. Danarius had often stated his love for the things, how they felt like lightning on his lips and tongue. He knew Hawke likely felt the same; he hadn’t missed the way Hawke’s eyes and hands would linger on them at times. Yet that gaze hadn’t seemed like Danarius’ at all. There had been a deep well of self-satisfied possession whenever Danarius had looked on Fenris’ naked form. Even with others, when he’d needed to lie with them to ensure he received food or a place to sleep, there had been a hunger to the gazes he’d received. With Azzan, there was something more akin to awe.

Every time he was with Azzan, the differences between him and the rest of humanity were made more and more clear. Even just yesterday morning, when he’d been facing his freedom with the feeling of a man left in the middle of a wasteland, Isabela had attempted to steer him toward a certain, unknowable path. Hawke, meanwhile, had gone out of his way to do everything but. When Fenris had been driving himself mad with worry over what might happen if he went to see Varania – fears that had been well-founded, a fact that never failed to make him bristle with remembered fury (remembered _pain_ ) – others had gotten quickly impatient with his anger. Hawke had weathered through it as if it meant nothing. The man had more patience than the entirety of Kirkwall put together.

And those were only the tip of the iceberg when it came to some of Hawke’s strengths. The things that made him the Champion weren’t his ability to heal himself from insane wounds, though he could – something Fenris would prefer to not ever have to test again – or his magical abilities, which, on anyone else, would be terrifying. They were how he responded to those around him, how he struggled to always help. How he worried about the right thing to say or do.

Such as the middle of the day yesterday, when Hawke had caught up with him as he’d wandered the back rooms of the man’s house. Fenris had been ready to apologize for wandering too far, only to have Hawke lean against the wall and say, “I don’t know how to ask this appropriately, so I apologize in advance. But… I have to know.” Fenris had tilted his head, and Hawke had continued, oddly bluntly for a man who always checked and double-checked his words, “what name would you prefer I call you?”

Fenris hadn’t given the idea much thought. He’d told Azzan that Leto was dead and gone, and so, to him, the matter had been settled. Apparently, to Azzan, it had not. “I am not Leto,” he said, his voice already showing signs of anger.

“No,” Azzan said, and his stance didn’t change in the slightest, “but you are no one’s ‘little wolf,’ either.”

Fenris flinched at the name. He had never expected to hear it from Azzan, and for a moment, it made him want to rip the man’s throat out. He took several deep breaths to calm himself. Not once did Hawke so much as move from where he stood. His hands didn’t move to go to him. Fenris was thankful for that.

When finally he got himself under control, he glared at Hawke. It wasn’t the man’s fault. It had seemed harsh to him – it likely had seemed harsh to Hawke, as well –but that might have been the entire point. Would Fenris wish to keep a name that had been given to him under such circumstances? Would he wish to be known as that, though those who would call him Fenris might not know where the name had originated?

If he had such a problem with Hawke noting the meaning of the name, then would he be all right with carrying it for the rest of his life?

“What other name is there, Hawke? This is who I am. I cannot be anyone else.”

For several moments, he thought Hawke might have been weighing his words. In reality, he realized in retrospect, the man had been holding his breath. “Do you want to be someone else?”

“No,” he said shortly. “I am who I am.”

Hawke’s fingers clenched. It was the first sign of movement the man had shown. “I know.”

Still, Hawke had needed him to choose. He hadn’t wanted to presume. All day – perhaps all the time he’d known him – Hawke had been fighting against doing such. He even said nothing when Fenris started walking his halls some more, and again when he chose to stand in the library, pondering the choices he’d made.

He had spent the entire day doing nothing. It had been a revelation, to learn he could do nothing and still feel as if he’d led a full day. Hawke had stayed with him throughout, simply by noticing how Fenris would freeze up when left alone in the man’s mansion. He was allowed everywhere, though the two rooms granted to Hawke’s brother and mother Fenris stayed away from out of respect. The main room was one he had already been well acquainted with, but this time he poked around. Aegis watched him for a while, only to huff and lie back down in front of the hearth when he realized nothing interesting was going to happen. Hawke had murmured something to the resting dog once, and the thing had responded by rolling onto its back and demanding pets. Fenris had watched as Azzan had happily complied.

Watching someone pet their dog should not have made him so happy, no matter who that someone was.

He’d also been in the library before, allowed to roam around, picking up whichever books were of interest to him. He’d seen the bottle of agreggio left on one of the tables, and had always thought Hawke had just placed it there and forgotten about it. This time, he’d gone over to pick it up, his mind more on the past than anything else, only to find it much lighter than he’d been expecting. It had been empty, yet it had been left there on the table. He tilted it a few times, only to open it and find it had been cleaned. Hawke had saved the thing as some sort of memento.

It also hadn’t been lost on him that the statue he’d spoken of disliking had not been there when he’d walked inside.

Fenris opened his eyes now to the morning light and stared up at the strange bedding before him. Once, he had woken to this same scene, his mind already racing with the memories he’d attempted to retain. Now, the memories lay cold and empty, no longer hidden by the fog that had encompassed them. They weren’t perfect – he still had gaps, things he couldn’t see no matter how hard he tried – but he could now picture his sister, her long red hair bouncing as she ran, and his mother, her own red curls pulled back as she struggled to carry back the meal she’d been granted for them to the small table with the wilting flowers he’d picked for her. He could picture, though through a haze, her smile as she ordered him to wash up.

The last time he had lain here, he had not been able to recall even the color of her hair.

He had ripped himself from the bed that night, somehow careful not to awaken Hawke despite his panic. It had been an old custom, to have to get up from Danarius’ bed without waking him to start on his morning duties. At the time, he’d been grateful that such an old habit had continued, just as it had when Fenris had been on the run and needed a place to sleep for the night – getting out of those peoples’ beds and back on the road had been, to him, the wisest and safest course of action.

Now, he found himself hesitant to get up. The blankets were soft and warm, and Hawke’s presence by his side calmed some unnameable part of him. The man slept with the ease of conviction, assured even in repose that Fenris would not harm him. Fenris held out one bare hand and swept his fingers through the man’s hair, pushing it back from his face. He quickly snatched it back, though Hawke did not wake. He curled his fingers into a fist. Hawke’s breath slid over Fenris’ cheeks. Those long, dark black lashes fluttered. Something took flight in his chest. His breath left him.

He hadn’t let himself hope that anything like this would be his again. That night, so many years ago, should have been like this. Instead he’d searched for something that had betrayed him. Hawke never had. Despite what he’d told himself, he’d allowed Danarius to take away something precious to him. Something so precious, he hadn’t even realized its importance. Not even as he’d turned from it.

His fingers reached out again, of their own accord, tracing the line of skin from ear to cheekbone, slowly moving down that stubbled jaw to those lips. He closed his eyes and willed himself strength. It would not be appropriate to take those lips with his while the man slept.

When he opened his eyes, he saw Azzan’s flutter open in front of him. He froze.

The man’s irises looked even more like those bottomless sea depths in the morning, as he slowly blinked himself into awareness. The instant Azzan recognized Fenris before him, he smiled. His chest nearly hurt from happiness. He couldn’t help leaning in, letting his hand guide Azzan’s lips up to his. That smile curved against his lips and made him shiver. He tilted his head and slipped his tongue inside. As always – and he almost feared how easily Hawke, Azzan, gave – Azzan opened up for him. Fenris moaned and rose above the man, one arm taking his weight while the other stroked the stubble at the end of Hawke’s jaw. Hawke leaned into the kiss, even as he stretched himself awake. Everything in Fenris stirred at the feel of those muscles bunching and clenching beneath him. He deepened the kiss, took over that mouth with his tongue. He rolled on top of Azzan entirely, let the man take his weight and curled both hands into that hair. Just like yesterday, the very act of kissing, the very fact that he could, sent him spiraling into madness. Alone with Hawke, in a room in which he felt safe, he let his hips grind against Hawke’s, swallowed the man’s groan, and plunged his tongue deep, until the very air in Hawke’s throat became his. Hawke arched his back and reached up, his hands moving from hips to sides to neck as if unsure where to land. Fenris gripped tighter, trying to show Hawke he needn’t baby him, not this time. Still, Hawke’s hands shivered, his touch barely pressed into the skin.

“Hawke,” he murmured, finally pulling back. He was gratified to see the sloe-eyed look on the man’s face, the nearly dazed expression of lips half-parted. He felt the tension beneath Hawke’s skin as the man fought to keep himself from grabbing Fenris up and demanding more. “You needn’t treat me like porcelain. I won’t break.”

It took several moments for Hawke to comprehend what Fenris had said. Another warm curl of satisfaction heated him, followed almost immediately by a sweeping sense of contentment. For the first time, he was letting himself see what it was like to wake Hawke up. He wanted to see every way this man saw the morning. He wanted slow mornings of watching Hawke come to wakefulness on his own, mornings where Hawke mumbled about wanting more sleep – mornings where Hawke was the one waking him. He wanted this. All of it.

Finally, Hawke seemed to understand what Fenris had told him. He tilted his head. “All right?”

There was something odd about the tone. Fenris moved one hand from Hawke’s hair to leverage himself up a bit. He could see something in Hawke’s gaze. Something he didn’t understand. He found his thumb rubbing over Hawke’s scalp and forced it to stop. His body, now that it could claim as it wanted, didn’t seem willing to be restrained any longer. “You needn’t hold back,” he said, trying to make it clear what he was saying without mentioning what he knew Hawke knew. Still, the look he received was still muddled by that something he couldn’t understand.

Something impossible niggled at the back of his mind. Something so ridiculous it barely deserved attention. But then again. The care taken in every movement. The way Hawke stared, as if seeing something he’d never seen before. The blushes. The near trembling.

But that was absurd. It was _absurd_.

He leaned up a little more and stared at those beautiful eyes. “Hawke,” he said, then, thinking about the topic, said instead, “Azzan.” The man beneath him focused on his lips for a moment before sliding his gaze back up to Fenris’. By the look on his face, he hadn’t meant to be distracting. He simply was. “After… I left. Were you with anyone?”

He already knew, even before Azzan’s brows furrowed and his mouth twisted in a grimace. “Of course not,” the man said, surprised enough by Fenris’ question to be viscerally honest. Fenris was very glad that his one attempt to move on from Hawke hadn’t gone well. His fingers clenched in the sheet beside Hawke’s head. “And before that night?”

It wasn’t possible. He already knew that; a man like Hawke, drop-dead gorgeous and so kind he could barely be real, had to have had men and women both lined up before him from the time he was of age, if not before. The very idea that what he was seeing was what he thought seemed so ridiculous, he wanted to take back the words as soon as he spoke them.

Hawke blinked up at him. “None.”

None. The word reverberated in his brain like gaatlok. He froze over Azzan, his gaze trying to rip some other truth from the man, as if, by will alone, he could change what he had heard.

Azzan cupped his cheek, slid his fingers back until they rested in Fenris’ hair, and smiled. “Didn’t you know?” he said, his voice soft. “I was yours from the start.”

The enormity of it left him flash-frozen, blinded. The world crashed around him. He straddled the man beneath him, dragged his hands around the man’s head, tangled them in that lush black hair, and wrapped his teeth around that pulse point in Hawke’s neck. Hawke lifted into his bite and groaned.

His. His. From that very moment, from that very night when he had claimed this man beneath him. From then and onwards, this man, of all men in this universe, had chosen to be his. He’d always thought that owning someone was heinous. He could never have expected just how it felt to have someone hand themselves over so freely. It felt like some terrible weight, some horrible pressure, as he realized the enormity of what Hawke had given him. Without words or demands or anything. And yet he couldn’t help but feel a joy so crushing it threatened to choke him. This man. This man could have anyone. And he had chosen him.

Hawke had told him he loved him. He hadn’t known the depth of what that word meant for this man until now.

Hawke was kind to everyone. He was polite even to those who hurt him. Fenris had thought that to be the furthest reaches of Hawke’s kindness – something given to all, equally. He’d been wrong. How many times had he noted that Hawke would not say no to him? How many times had he seen what Hawke was willing to do for him? How many times had he thought it a symptom of kindness?

He curled his hands around the backs of Hawke’s shoulders, the pull of his arms forcing Azzan’s to close around his neck more thoroughly, trapping them in-between their chests. He sucked hard on the soft skin beneath his teeth. This man beneath him was more than what he’d been searching for. He was everything Fenris had ever needed, without ever knowing he needed it. He pulled back enough to place wet kisses over the very place he’d hurt – the place he’d marked. “Hawke,” he groaned.

The man’s breath was hot on his temple, his fingers spasming over the lines of lyrium on the sides of his neck. The man seemed desperate to not hold too tight, despite Fenris’ words. Still, his body was reacting beneath Fenris’; he could feel the stiffness beneath the man’s silk pants, the only clothes he’d remained in before getting under the sheets last night. Hawke shuddered out a breath as Fenris traced the rhythm of Hawke’s heartbeats to the place where neck turned to jaw and ear. Hawke’s stubble scratched his cheek. Those hands slipped from Fenris’ neck down to the swell of his collarbone. Fingertips dipped into the line of scars. Fenris saw Azzan’s eyes roll back in his head. Something odd touched those lines; he could feel a well of something like a summer breeze wash over him for an instant. Less than a second afterward, the feeling disappeared, and Hawke grimaced.

“Sorry,” Hawke said. He was breathless. “Sorry.”

Danarius had once said he ‘fed off of’ the lyrium within Fenris. As if somehow Fenris’ blood, poisoned as it was by the lyrium tattooed in his skin and veins, was more potent than any others’. Hawke may be unknowingly tapping into that. Unlike Danarius, however, Hawke fought against it.

He remembered, vaguely, something similar happening last time they’d been together. Hawke had sent a sudden burst of magic around them, the usual feel of his aura encapsulating them as they’d moved to this very room. Hawke had said he’d wanted to make Fenris feel good, but perhaps it had been this. And in truth, after so many years traveling with the man, that aura was as much a part of Hawke as his personality, and just as soothing.

“I don’t mind,” he said, and saw Hawke’s eyes widen. He ducked down, unwilling to examine his feelings himself, let alone allow Hawke to see them. But it was true. He didn’t mind the thought of Hawke drawing strength from him.

He returned to licking paths along Hawke’s skin. When it had seemed as if the man might continue speaking, Fenris’ tongue turned him into a shuddering mess. Anything he might have been about to say was lost. They wouldn’t speak of it. Not now. Not in this moment, their first morning together, instead of their tryst that ended before dawn broke over the city’s edge.

More, he had something to make up for. This time, Hawke would know what sex could be like.

Everything he had learned, he had learned to please others. For his master, who owned him in every way, including physically. For those who used his need for shelter or food as an excuse to take from him the only thing he could offer. Never before had the act been about giving. Not even his first time with Azzan, Maker curse him; he’d been more interested in finding some sort of release for himself.

But now. Now he could do better.

He knew this dance. He knew where to touch. Azzan reached up for him, and for a moment, Fenris thought he was reaching to command Fenris to a certain place, and he paused to take the order. But Azzan’s hands only flitted through his hair, down his cheeks to his neck and shoulders, and the man held him steady just long enough to buck into him. Fenris hissed at the contact. He wasn’t wearing much, having stripped down to the leather underpants of his armor. The fabric pulled taut against him as he reacted.

He’d once known these steps. With Hawke, he knew next to nothing.

He breathed hard as Azzan moved beneath him, those long fingers trailing down across his chest, deliberately pulling away from the lines of lyrium worked into his skin to trace the edges of his pectorals and down his sides. Fenris shivered. The last time they’d been together, Hawke hadn’t touched him much at all. He hadn’t thought much of it at the time; he’d only noticed that he hadn’t thought of Danarius’ hands on him during that night. Later, he had realized why. Now Hawke’s hands roamed, though there was a distinct sense that he would pull back the instant Fenris gave even a hint of discomfort.

He leaned in, let his eyes slip closed, and groaned at the feel.

Azzan’s touch had always been one of giving. Either in support or camaraderie or anything else, there was always a sense of softness to him. Fenris felt it again now; Hawke trailed his fingers along Fenris’ sides, counting his ribs with a light touch, wrapping his hands around Fenris’ dark skin so gently he barely felt the man’s thumbs press into the sides of his stomach. He shuddered as Hawke’s fingers slid down to his leather pants, and Azzan stilled. He opened his eyes to find the man paused, uncertain, his gaze careful on Fenris.

It was almost in him to be angry. He’d just said he wasn’t porcelain. But Hawke didn’t know what he was doing, any more than Fenris had known when he’d first…

He cupped Hawke’s cheek and smiled. He would do this right. Hawke would not learn as he had, through fear and obligation and compulsion. Hawke would learn what he enjoyed, not what Fenris liked. And he would learn how it could feel.

Fenris would make it feel amazing.

He wrapped his fingers around Azzan’s and pulled them away, the movement slow but unflinching. He led Azzan’s hands down to the lining of those silk pants, trying to lead the man to rest, to touch where and when he wished, but Azzan immediately fumbled to take them off. Fenris chuckled and stilled him again. “Allow me,” he said. Instantly, Azzan did just that, letting his hands rest idly at his sides. Fenris had to take several deep breaths as he watched the man go pliant and trusting beneath him.

He ran his hands up Hawke’s arms, gently braceleting his wrists for an instant before sliding them up to feel the widening of those forearms as Hawke’s muscles bulged into his biceps. Despite the action, Hawke looked at him with utmost faith. He leaned up and kissed him. Hawke didn’t hold back, at least; there seemed to be some sort of restraint in the man, yet he still surged upward, his neck craning to gain extra access to Fenris’ mouth. He opened for the man, curious to see what he would do. He was surprised to feel Azzan dip inside his mouth, only to plunge in and out, the action slow but deep. He shivered. His own first, fumbling kisses had never been like that. His skill had come from being taught. Hawke, if he’d never been with anyone… he must have remembered. From that night.

He groaned, letting the sound reverberate in Hawke’s mouth, and took over the kiss.

He aligned their lips a bit better, sealing them together completely. One parry turned Hawke’s efforts into a duel; at first, Hawke tried to retreat, but Fenris followed after him, coaxed his tongue back, and slid his around Hawke’s. Hawke arced up into the kiss, shuddered long and low beneath Fenris – those hands reached up to clutch Fenris’ waist. For two full minutes, Fenris lulled Hawke into a mindless euphoria with his lips alone, testing every inch of Hawke’s mouth, from teeth to gums, finding the places that made Hawke’s breath seize in his chest and those that made those hands spasm around Fenris’ skin. After those minutes, however, he needed only to pull back for Hawke to remember his hands and place them once more on the bed.

Fenris nuzzled the man’s cheek, enjoying the rough scrape of his stubble. Danarius had had a beard. The thought annoyed him, even as he wondered at how calmly he reflected on it. He didn’t want to think of Danarius here, yet it didn’t bother him. Was it because Danarius was dead? He looked down at Hawke, at the man’s chest as it rose and fell, trying to calm the breaths that raged inside it. No. “Hawke.”

Hawke focused on him. His eyes were so dilated they looked nearly black. “What do you need?” Hawke asked.

He bit his cheek as blood surged to his cock. That. That was why.

“Use your hands,” he said. “Show me what you like.”

Hawke’s gaze flickered; his mouth opened, only for him to bite his lip. Fenris watched in fascination. That was a new look on Hawke’s face. Six years, and he’d never seen that before. He couldn’t help it; he bent down and kissed the man again, gently taking that bottom lip for his own. It took several moments, but finally he could feel Hawke’s hands rise up to once more encase his sides, thumbs to stomach and fingers to back. Fenris led the way for Hawke, let his own hands roam up the man’s chest, around his nipples. Hawke shivered at the touch and stilled his own hands. Fenris huffed; his breath mixed with Hawke’s. He let go of Hawke’s lip. “Move your hands, Hawke.”

Those fingers clenched, just for a moment. Hawke stared at him. He smirked. Hawke’s eyes widened. Without breaking eye contact, Hawke raised his hands up, let his fingers trail back over Fenris’ chest, still careful to avoid the lyrium, and cupped Fenris’ face. “I like you,” the man said. Then, a moment later, a sheepish grin. “I don’t know where to start.”

Fenris closed his eyes. How was this man real?

“Look at me,” he said, catching Hawke’s eyes again. Hawke matched him gaze for gaze. He snorted. “My body, Hawke.” Hawke blushed – _blushed_. But at least he did as Fenris said. Fenris caught how those passion-dark eyes caught, for a short moment, on Fenris’ neck, on the lines on the sides of it leading down to the marks on his throat and collarbone. He saw how they hesitated over the bumps and dips of his abdomen. “Those places where your eyes linger. Touch me there, Hawke.” Hawke breathed in deep through his nose.

“I…” The man’s breath came in near gasps. His eyes returned back to Fenris’ throat, then up to his ears. “I don’t want to… to remind you,” he said, finally letting his words rest, fumbling, into silence.

“You won’t.” He smiled, even as his heart flew off to parts unknown. How had he been the one to take this man’s virginity? How had Hawke ever wanted him back, after how his first experience had been? How had he been lucky enough to be the one Hawke chose to love?

“You… can’t control that,” Hawke said, even as his fingers clenched and unclenched around Fenris’ middle. As if he was trying to let go, but unable to. Fenris liked the idea.

“No,” Fenris said. He knew it was true; even now, he found himself comparing Hawke to Danarius, even as he knew what he said to be the truth. “But you are nothing like Danarius.”

Hawke flinched a bit at the man’s name. As if Danarius haunted him as much as Fenris. He couldn’t, of course, and yet Fenris felt even more warmed by the thought. Azzan hurt at the name because Fenris hurt at it. For Azzan, it was as simple as that.

Azzan’s hands reached out, touching the edges of Fenris’ hair, only to clutch tight. Letting some of his control go, just a bit. Testing. Fenris told himself not to fear, no matter what – only to find Hawke lowering his head, not to meet his lips, but to meet, forehead to forehead. He smelled apples and summer, the mix of Hawke and his spirit. He stayed where Hawke left him, letting their breaths mix once more as Azzan’s hands flirted with the idea of moving. He let the moment hang suspended between them until, with a sigh, Azzan moved.

He should have known from the start that asking Hawke to find what pleasured him would be to go about this all wrong. It was what Fenris would have wanted, if given the chance. But it didn’t suit Hawke at all. Hadn’t he just noted how Hawke was all about giving?

He’d told Hawke to focus on where his eyes lingered, but of course the first place Hawke went was the first place he had – the chest. Hawke’s hands skittered over his skin, raising goosebumps as he traced along the edges of his pecs again before heading for his nipples. They were dusky, darker than Azzan’s and already erect. The man studied them, traced the edges of the areolae with the very tips of his fingers before rubbing the nipples themselves. Fenris hissed and shuddered. Azzan looked at him with wide eyes, freezing in place as he tried to figure out if the sound was good or not. Fenris stared down at him. “Again,” he said, and Hawke immediately obliged. He closed his eyes at the feel.

If he’d let them do this – if he’d just gone slower – there was no way he wouldn’t have found out about Hawke’s virginity. And perhaps, if he hadn’t asked earlier, he might not have known before starting this now. He would have been annoyed that Hawke was playing with him the way Danarius had loved to – the reason he was sensitive there now was due to Danarius’ constant ministrations. Even now, there should have been nothing erotic about Hawke touching him like he might shatter if Hawke pressed the wrong place in the wrong way. But these hesitant moments were Hawke trying to reach out in this new way, under Fenris’ guidance, for once. A new way to give, and, if Fenris could do this right, to receive in return.

He imagined watching Hawke grow slowly accustomed to touching and being touched, until Hawke knew exactly what Fenris loved and exactly what he himself loved. He imagined them growing so close they could understand what the other needed without words.

He wanted this. He wanted this more than anything in the world.

As always, when Hawke put his mind to something, he put everything into it. He rubbed lightly against Fenris’ nipples, then, emboldened by Fenris’ response, slid the edges of his fingers along their sides. Though it was accidental, Fenris felt the edges of the man’s short nails and shuddered all over again. Hawke shifted slightly beneath him, and despite himself, Fenris stiffened. It would be better if, during this, Hawke took top, but Fenris wasn’t ready for it. But Hawke didn’t try to move him. He simply hoisted himself up on his elbows and kissed Fenris’ chest, right above his heart. Those lips slid over his skin, breathed heat across his chest, and stopped just above his nipple. Waiting. “Hawke.” He leaned back, enough that he was sitting as he straddled Hawke. With one hand he took the back of Hawke’s head, tangling the already messy dark hair between his fingers, and led Hawke back to his chest.

There had been times when he had sat above Danarius. At those times, he had been instructed to take pleasure in Danarius’ actions. He’d even held Danarius’ head in place as the magister had taken his pleasure from Fenris’ body. This position, taken over a mage, was familiar. Yet, even as he realized this, Hawke pulled him back. Those fingers slid over his sternum to the left side of his chest, and as they moved, they touched the lyrium on him. All at once, he felt the cool breeze of Hawke’s warm heart, and the images of his past dissolved from before his eyes. He breathed in deep. His fingers fisted in Hawke’s hair.

Hawke had feared eliciting those memories. Fenris bent to kiss the top of Hawke’s head. The man should have known. He was the reason Fenris always came back.

Encouraged once more by Fenris’ kiss, Azzan opened his mouth and took Fenris’ nipple. Fenris hissed again. This time, Hawke didn’t hesitate at the sound, but wrapped his hands around Fenris’ back and pulled him against his lips, then sucked.

Fenris gasped. He’d been taught how to do this for others, but had never had it done for him. He found himself lifting his hips, trying to angle better into Azzan’s mouth. Those fingers against his back spread wide, nearly encompassing his thin frame. Azzan suckled on him like a babe. The man added his tongue back into the mix, repeating what he’d learned about kissing – an endless touch and retreat, one that made Fenris grip Azzan’s hair so hard it had to hurt. He nearly crushed the man’s face to his skin. Yet, when he tried to let Hawke go, he felt the man moan around his wet skin. He gritted his teeth. “Hawke.”

Azzan merely moved his lips across his skin, pausing long enough to kiss the skin of his sternum, where the thick line of lyrium traced the long bone, and continued his ministrations on his other nipple.

He’d unleashed a beast.

Even trapped beneath him, Hawke found a way to drive him mad. Emboldened, Hawke finally moved those hands again, even as he continued that touch of tongue, lazier now that he knew what to do. Fenris breathed deep. It wouldn’t do to lose himself to this. They’d hardly started.

But it had been three years.

Hawke’s hands spanned over the bottom of his back. His pinkies dipped into the small of it, leaned Fenris forward just enough that their erections touched, off-center beneath the layers of cloth that remained to them. Fenris wanted to rip Hawke’s silk pants to pieces. He wanted to rip his own pants to pieces.

And that was a place Hawke hadn’t stared at.

He remembered what he was supposed to be doing just as Hawke moved again. This time those lips trailed a wet path to Fenris’ throat. Again, Hawke started by pressing a kiss at Fenris’ pulse point. His memories of Danarius biting down frittered away like smoke. Hawke breathed deeply, and though it was what Danarius had always done, there was a stiffness to the hands around him, one that said he was afraid and ashamed of what he was doing. Azzan shuddered as he breathed in. “Maker, Fenris,” he said, and pulled himself back. “I can’t…”

Fenris ran his fingers through that hair. They got caught in a few knots, yet the hair was thick and full and soft against his skin. He saw Azzan with his hair down around his face and wanted, suddenly, to be beneath the man as he kissed him like before, to feel that hair sweep over his sensitized skin until his stomach quivered. “It’s fine, Hawke.”

But Azzan shook his head. When he returned to Fenris’ neck, he stayed far away from the lyrium. Instead he focused on the space of free skin between the lines carved into him, let his tongue and the slightest scrape of teeth taste the perspiration beading up. Hawke’s hands skimmed the edge of Fenris’ pants, and he lifted his hips to accommodate Hawke, only to have the man pull away again. He was about ten seconds from getting frustrated. “Hawke, this isn’t going to last much longer.”

He felt Hawke grin against his skin. “Should we put on the _finishing touches_?”

Fenris groaned. “Hawke. Andraste’s sake.”

Hawke chuckled. He pulled back and shined that sunshine grin at him. Fenris forgave him instantly. “I guess I did an all right job, then.”

Instantly Fenris’ soft smile vanished. “This isn’t about that.” Hawke’s brows furrowed. He took a deep breath. He had to remember what Hawke was like. “This is about… both of us,” he said finally. “Not what you can do to please me.”

It only took a second for understanding to light those features. Azzan smiled. “If you’re happy, then I’m happy, Fenris.”

He was still doing this wrong. And he had no idea how to do it right. How could he, someone raised on sex in only the wrong ways, teach Hawke to do it right? He had no idea what he was doing himself.

Hawke touched Fenris’ hands. He looked down. Even though Hawke was not a pale man, next to Fenris’ skin, he might as well have been pure white. Hawke tugged on Fenris’ hands, ignoring the lines of lyrium leading to his fingertips, and rested Fenris’ hands on his hips – right along the seam of his silk pants. Fenris met Hawke’s gaze. “I’m happy, Fenris.”

For a moment, he thought Hawke had made another pun. A dirty one, at that. But there was no quirked, I-amaze-myself-with-my-wit grin. There was only Azzan, trying to give him what he needed. Fenris growled.

Enough. He would show Hawke what to do himself.

He held tight to the sides of Hawke’s pants and the undergarment beneath and tugged down. This was only his second time seeing Hawke naked, and his eyes feasted upon the sight before him. Hawke was slightly paler here, though little enough that Fenris wondered if the man baked himself over his hearth to keep himself so evenly tanned. He stared at Azzan’s cock. He was long, red. Hard. Fenris wrapped his hand around that rock-solid length. Azzan groaned. Loudly. Precum dribbled over the tip.

Azzan was hard. From pleasuring Fenris.

Enough was enough.

Fenris wrenched down the pants, scooted back until he could peel them from Azzan’s legs entirely. Hunger rumbled in his loins at the sight before him. Azzan did not try to cover up, though Fenris was certain doing so would have been normal. Instead he leaned back, rested on his elbows, and let Fenris look. How the hell had Fenris failed to notice this man in his entirety before? His legs, the shape of them. Fenris discarded the pants over the side of the bed and ran his hands up over Azzan’s ankles, slipping slowly up to his calves. The hairs on Azzan’s legs tickled his fingers and palms. They grew finer as he leaned up over the man’s thighs. Without a word, Azzan spread his legs for Fenris. He nearly choked.

Right before him was Azzan’s cock, trembling on the man’s stomach. Fenris wrapped his hand around it again and watched Azzan’s face as his eyes slipped closed, his neck arched back and he struggled to control his breathing. Azzan moved his hands to the sheets and fisted them within. Handing over control once more. Letting Fenris go at his own pace.

Azzan was the most infuriating, incredible man he had ever met.

He’d wanted to let Azzan take pleasure for himself, but apparently the very idea of such a thing was anathema. So Fenris would have to do it himself. He would show Hawke what sex was supposed to be like. A give and take of pleasure.

He licked up from the base of Hawke’s cock, straight to the tip. Azzan gasped and jerked beneath him, strongly enough that Fenris had to hold his hips steady. He looked up to see those eyes widen. “Fenris, what–”

Hawke had never known even this simple pleasure. The very idea of it made Fenris’ cock jump. He palmed it within his breeches and took the wet tip into his mouth. Azzan went wild beneath him, even as his muscles tensed in an effort at control. Fenris held Azzan’s hips still as those legs bent at the knee, toes curled, spine arced. Fenris felt the tension snapping beneath his hands and held on tighter, not letting Hawke hurry this.

He’d learned what to do at the foot of Danarius – sometimes literally. He’d used them before, multiple times, as he’d fled from Tevinter. He’d focused on giving the one he was with pleasure as expeditiously as possible, to keep up his end of the bargain and get it over with. There had been times when Danarius had ordered him to go slower, to ‘worship’ his cock. He’d hated those times. Now, faced with doing the same, he found himself at war between curiosity and revulsion. Would it be like it had been with Danarius? Would it be different? Would he not be able to hold on to the present, as he’d thought he could? Would he take Hawke down his throat and think of Danarius even then?

At least Hawke didn’t taste the same. They never did; he knew Danarius’ taste better than he did the taste of his own spit. He feared he would never get it out. He feared he wouldn’t memorize Hawke’s taste as he had Danarius’. He feared finding some similarity between the two of them, some taste or scent or feel that would remind him too much of his old master. For now, the movement of the body beneath him, the thick, wired cords of muscle spasming along the line of torso to pelvis, kept him sane lone enough to realize that it wasn’t just the taste that was different. It was everything.

Hawke’s body was more muscled, more toned than Danarius’. There was little fat, if any, and the very feel of the skin was like touching velvet steel. The sweat on his tongue was of a different tang, the salty taste lighter, somehow. He licked at the slit, testing the taste some more, only to feel a bone-deep shudder jitter up Hawke’s spine. Acting on some instinct, Hawke wrapped his legs around Fenris as he worked.

Danarius had pet him, maneuvered him, spoken instructions to him. Never had the man writhed like he was losing his mind beneath Fenris.

There was a sense of power in this, he realized. Power he’d never had before. He had to use his hands to keep Hawke still, but doing so gave him power over the man. Power Hawke granted to him unconditionally.

He laved Hawke’s cock with his tongue, let go of the tip to explore the skin connecting Hawke’s cock to his sac. Every time he touched, moved, licked, Hawke gasped and trembled and moaned beneath him. The man reacted as if connected to the lightning he himself could call down. Fenris held him so tightly he knew bruises would show the imprint of his fingers in the next few hours. The idea sounded once more like a marking – a claiming. He nibbled on a vein running from base to tip and watched Azzan go mad. The heat on his lips flared and pulsed. His own cock hurt in his breeches, angry with the inattention. He, too, was getting off on the evidence of Azzan’s pleasure.

“Fenris,” Azzan gasped. His hands were so wrapped in his sheets Fenris couldn’t see his fingers. The man babbled something indecipherable, then breathed Fenris’ name. On either side of his face, Fenris could feel the muscles in Azzan’s thighs quiver.

An idea coalesced in his mind. Acting on it, he nibbled his way back to Hawke’s tip and, in one fell swoop, took Hawke into his mouth.

Hawke let out a garbled cry. Hands touched Fenris’ face, his cheeks, his hair. They fell again, only to have those legs wrap around him more tightly. Hawke nearly broke Fenris’ hold when he bucked up into his mouth. When Fenris forced him down again, Hawke’s cock outright jumped in his mouth. Cum slipped down the back of his throat.

Hawke liked that.

He worked his jaw. It had been years since he’d done this, and for a moment, his jaw ached with the pressure. He adjusted quickly, quick enough that he was able to change the movements into a soft clench of his throat around Azzan’s dick. The sound that left Azzan’s throat was filthy. Fenris looked up. Hawke was a mess; his golden skin blazed a long line up the length of the bed. It glistened in sweat; he saw Hawke’s stomach clench and unclench as Hawke fought to keep still and failed. His head was flung back, showing Fenris the deep curves of his neck, the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. That stubble slid down along the underside of Hawke’s jaw, slid up the sides of his cheeks until it was lost amidst the deep tangle of that hair. Those black strands littered the pillow on either side of Hawke’s head. Even as he watched, Hawke slid his hands up from his sides and grabbed the headboard. His fingers wrapped white-knuckled around the bars above his head, allowing Hawke to writhe more freely.

He was beautiful. Beautiful and his.

He slurped his way up, allowing himself enough room to breathe, and sucked hard. Hawke arched up so hard his entire body left the bed, his neck holding him up as he placed his weight entirely on Fenris. Fenris took it with only a small effort and wrapped his hands around Hawke’s torso to his buttocks. “Fen… Fenris, I’m gonna… you have to stop…” Hawke groaned low, his hips jerking in Fenris’ hands now that Fenris couldn’t use gravity to help his cause. The jerks were short, uneven, as if Hawke was fighting against going all the way. Fenris coaxed him back down and, with the help of the bed, kept Hawke still once more. He made a considering hum with Hawke still in his mouth. The man let out a hoarse cry and struggled a bit harder. “Fenris! I’m going to come!”

Fenris pulled back. Azzan bucked for a moment, trying to get to that finish line. Fenris licked his lips and sat back, taking in the glory before him. He’d thought to swallow Azzan completely, but his body ached with the need to possess. Just as, he was starting to learn, Azzan’s likely ached to be possessed.

He soothed Azzan down from the edge with his hands, rubbing them up and down those thighs to that torso, quivering still with the effort to control himself. Fenris kissed those shivering muscles. He could feel the restraint in the man. He wondered, suddenly, what Azzan would look like without that control. He’d nearly broken it. Was it right to take it away? He dipped his tongue into the man’s belly button and felt Azzan lurch beneath him, only to relax suddenly and go still. The man sighed. Fenris checked, but Azzan was still hard; he hadn’t come.

He glanced up. Azzan’s gaze was slitted, his chest heaving. Still, he grinned. “You’re lasting just fine,” he said.

Fenris snorted. He couldn’t help it. He ran his hands over Hawke’s abdomen, even though the man had calmed somewhat. “We’re in more similar positions than you may think.”

Hawke’s gaze dipped down, though Fenris knew the man wouldn’t be able to see anything, even if he was unclothed. Hawke’s breathing picked up again. “I still think I might be _in pole position_ right now.”

Fenris closed his eyes, hung his head, and chuckled. How the hell did Hawke make a horrible, dirty pun sound incredible? How had he gone three years without this man beneath him like this? He shook his head and smirked down at this man. His lover. “Oh, you’re definitely in pole position.” He leaned up and rubbed against Hawke’s aching erection. The man threw his head back and moaned. The friction of the leather would have caused such tension as to be nearly painful. “But I’m on the edge, too.” Hawke sucked in air, but didn’t yet look back at him. Trying for that control again, then. Fenris flicked Hawke’s nipples. The man jumped and gasped. When he did, Fenris caught his gaze again. “I want to take you, Hawke. I just don’t think I can wait that long.”

Hawke’s face slid into a moue of disappointment. “Then…?”

Andraste’s hand, how did Hawke know so little about sex with another? He leaned down, until he could take Hawke’s lips once more; the man had learned enough to tilt his own head to grant them both greater access. Hawke let go of the headboard to touch the sides of Fenris’ jaw. Those fingers traveled down to his chin, across the lines of lyrium down to his chest and out. They slid down his torso as he deepened the kiss, speaking with tongue and teeth the message he couldn’t find words for. Hawke leaned into the kiss and curved his hands along the line of leather, though he once more made no move to take the garment off. Instead he let his hands roam farther, until he was cupping Fenris’ butt. Fenris broke off the kiss, quickly hiding his grimace in Hawke’s neck. He let the smell of apples pull him from the memory of blood in his nostrils. He worked his throat until he was certain it would give away nothing, then said, “Hawke.”

Hawke shifted, likely reacting to the touch of hot air on his throat. His hands paused. His breath, when he spoke, came out in a shudder. “Tell me what you need, Fenris.”

 _You._ It was such a stupid thought. Yet, as Hawke’s words broke the memories clamoring up within him, he found it was more true than anything. Hawke had somehow heard his trepidation. He’d heard, and he’d stopped. Already, Hawke was turning to comfort instead of pleasure, even though they were both clearly near the edge. Already Hawke was putting that trepidation first.

It was just what Fenris needed. As always.

Fenris smiled and lightly bit the man’s pulse. “There are ways to still…”

“If you need to wait it out,” Hawke said breathlessly, “so you can take me, then that’s what we’ll do.”

Fenris closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, having to fight the urge to come right there. Maker. How could flashbacks come when he was with Hawke? The man was nothing like those who came before.

He kissed the skin beneath him before his desire could flag. Hawke’s skin smelled even more strongly of ripening fruit and bright, airy breezes, as if Hawke’s very sweat carried traces of the spirit within him. Or, more likely, as if their continued proximity, their continued touch, fed the spirit with the lyrium Fenris carried. His hands fisted on top of Azzan’s chest, dragging through the fine hairs and putting pressure on the man’s sternum. Hawke didn’t make a single sound of protest.

He didn’t know if it was right to want to break the man until he lost that control, but he did know he would do almost anything to see it.

With the caution of a man attempting to defuse gaatlok, Azzan let his hands roam down again, this time stopping at Fenris’ shoulders. Hawke squeezed as if to offer comfort and smiled. Fenris managed one short breath before he had to kiss Hawke again. He leaned over the man, taking a new position. He pulled Hawke’s legs off of him and pushed them together, lending him room to enfold them within his own. Hawke, when Fenris pulled back, had a small moue on his face as he tried to understand what Fenris was doing.

He pushed the long, sweaty bangs from Azzan’s forehead and gently took hold of Hawke’s hands. One he placed against his cheek, where those fingers were all too ready to curl around his cheekbone and into his hair and along the edge of his ear. The other he led down to the man’s cock. Azzan blinked up at him, his eyes slightly wide. Maker. Had he looked like that, back when he’d been new to this? Had he looked like he was on the verge of panic and trying to control it?

Despite Hawke’s looks – and the man had the body of a lost god – he was as new as Fenris had been when he’d first been trained. Fenris knew what he’d wanted when he’d first been taught. He knew how he’d felt. He couldn’t help but worry that Hawke felt the same thing, even when Hawke trustingly allowed Fenris to tell his hands where to go. Even as Hawke gripped himself steadily under Fenris’ guidance. He kissed the man again, somehow surprised when Hawke surged into it. He traced the man’s cock from beneath those fingers. Still hard.

Hawke wasn’t in the same situation as he’d been. Hawke was with someone he’d chosen. And that person was him.

He wanted to protect Hawke. He wanted to show him everything that could feel good. He wanted Azzan to love being in love with him.

He pulled back, enough that they both shivered in the sudden cold air between them, and pulled down his pants. They clung to his sweaty body, yet even though he had to shimmy clumsily out of them, Hawke’s gaze slid hungrily down. He tried to sway his hips somewhat erotically. His reward? Azzan’s eyes went completely black, the blue blown away entirely, the man’s mouth opened for air he could no longer breathe. Azzan’s hips moved of their own accord. The man didn’t move his hands from where Fenris had placed them, even though it meant stretching one arm to its limits to keep it on Fenris’ cheek. The touch of flesh there, so intimate and heartfelt, kept Fenris’ mind from returning to the past once more.

Finally free of his pants, he kicked them to the side and raised his own hand to his face. He licked a long swipe from heel to fingertip. Hawke watched, those dark-drunk eyes caught on his mouth. Fenris smirked. He may have wanted to get inside this man, but he couldn’t pretend having him in any form wasn’t a miracle. Especially when Hawke looked at him like that.

“Here,” he said, surprised at just how gruff his voice sounded – surprised, as well, by the reaction Hawke had to the sound. The human’s eyes fluttered shut as that glistening body shivered from head to toe. How had he never realized just how attracted Hawke was to him? When the man’s very cock jumped at nothing more than Fenris’ voice?

He adjusted his position slightly. Forced to look away from Hawke’s face for the first time in a while, he was instead caught by the long, thin lines of scars leading down to the man’s pelvis and thighs and the long, dripping cock Azzan still held, his hand moving instinctively, stroking himself just slightly. The cock was red, almost angry, as if furious to be kept waiting. Fenris rubbed his thumb over that tip. Azzan gasped, his hips snapping up into his fist. His gasp changed suddenly, and Fenris placed his dry hand quickly onto Azzan’s hips. The man made one more aborted movement before groaning deep in his throat. “Maker, Fenris, I’m going to…”

He almost saw it. His eyes widened as he took in the bared teeth, the sudden writhing of the body beneath him. The hand on his cheek slid back to grip the side of his neck. He had to pull Hawke’s hand away from his length; the man was about to pump himself to release. When he managed to yank Hawke’s hand away – using more force than he’d initially intended – the man’s hips beat into the air, clawing for the release Fenris held him back from. A gurgling moan slipped through the man’s kiss-swollen lips.

Hawke arced his neck back and gasped for air. As if drowning. Small mewls pierced the bedroom, Hawke barely able to speak more than garbled half-phrases. Fenris caught the man begging once, saying, “please, please, Maker…” Almost, he took the man in his mouth and ended it, just to stop him from hurting. But from the amount of precum dripping from his slit, pain seemed the farthest from what he was experiencing. Fenris knew pleasure could be found despite one’s disinclination. But this didn’t seem like that. This seemed… good?

“Hawke,” he whispered, letting his breath ghost over the man’s wet tip. Hawke cried out. His body trembled, tension lining every visible surface. It only lasted a second before the tension dissolved and the man was writhing all over again. Fenris felt his own dick react and gritted his teeth to stifle it. He had never seen Hawke so beautiful as in this one moment.

“Fen… Fenris, I…” Hawke’s hand clenched tight around Fenris’ neck, no longer able to maintain its controlled pressure. The man was so close to the edge Fenris could see veins popping out from his forehead, his neck. His chest heaved with every audible breath. “Fenris,” he said, then again, “Fenris.” Over and over again. A mantra. A plea? A prayer.

Fenris licked his hand one more time, this time tasting Hawke’s seed on his tongue, and quickly wrapped his hand around his own, and then Hawke’s, cock. As soon as the heat from his hand and dick touched Hawke, the man thrust up, hard, nearly bucking Fenris off. He scrabbled for purchase with his free hand. Hawke, eyes closed, head tilted back, seemed too far gone to worry about helping Fenris maintain his balance.

It was glorious. Of course he worried about consent – of course he feared he’d taken things too far – but the more Hawke writhed, the more he clung to Fenris. The more those fingers dug into him, the more that body curled up as if attempting to wrap them both in a cocoon. When Fenris had been pushed to the edge, he’d writhed, as well. But not once had he attempted to get closer to the person bringing him to such an edge. Hawke looked ready to pull Fenris in. His hair, wild and tangled and abandoned, laid a dark swath over the pillows as he reared back, his body acting on instinct to thrust up into Fenris’ hand. He knew the instant Hawke realized what Fenris had done; his eyes snapped open, even as his mouth opened on a silent cry. Fenris had to brace for the pleasure, himself; Azzan’s motion had made their dicks glide hotly against one another, length to length. The action shot sparks across them both, against them both. Azzan’s head flopped back. He panted. “Fenris. Maker. What…?”

“I told you,” he murmured, answering for the man before he could flounder further. “There are other ways.”

Hawke’s mind seemed to fail him. He moved again, just a bit, as if testing it. He groaned. “Maker.”

No puns. No eloquent sentences. The man was too far gone. Fenris grinned, delighted at the idea. Careful to watch Azzan’s face, he slid his hand up, then, in one slow motion, back down to their bases. Hawke nearly choked. “Fenris!” He leaned up again, pumping into Fenris’ hand as best he could. With only one hand, he couldn’t stop the movement entirely, but he could control Azzan enough that the man’s actions didn’t dislodge his hand from around them both. The effort was worth it; Azzan let out a frustrated cry and moved again. And again. Slowly Fenris herded him, gave those impatient movements a rhythm, and finally, when Hawke set himself up properly, allowed himself to feel.

It wasn’t as if he’d managed to be unaffected by everything. In fact, the moment he started paying attention, he realized he wasn’t much better off than Hawke himself. Practice and previous experience had kept him in control, but he could feel, now that he let himself, his own precum dribbling from his tip. He let his hand reach the very edge of their cocks until he could rub over both of their slits with his thumb. Hawke cried out, jerking underneath him. He bent his head down, his sounds more muted but no less fervent as he grunted low in his chest, his body shaking with the effort at control as he lathered them both in their combined cum. Hawke’s dick twitched spasmodically. The man’s eyes widened further as he understood what Fenris had done – what was on him. “You’re,” the man started, only to tense. And just like that, Hawke’s control was finally gone.

Hawke thrust up, hard, his hands moving to Fenris’ hips to keep him steady as he moved. His eyes narrowed to slits, his teeth gritted as he took charge, snapping his hips into Fenris’ waiting hand. Fenris felt the strength of Hawke’s thighs beneath his as the man pushed up, saw the ripple of sweaty muscles along Hawke’s chest and neck and stomach as Hawke quickened his movements. No longer did the man speak, yet Fenris felt a familiar power rush around them. With the end of Hawke’s control came the release of his magic. Fenris barely tensed, expecting something awful before he felt the familiar touch of Hawke’s healing aura. It burst into bright fragments, beating out in a blue light, filling him with warmth even as the cool summer breeze brushed through his hair. He stared, wide-eyed, as Hawke cried out and came, the aura bursting like starlight over them both. He felt it race over his skin, sending something spilling through his veins – through the lyrium embedded inside him – as, for the first time in his life, the constant thrum-ache of lyrium dulled. Numbed. He hardly felt it beneath his skin. The energy sparked inside him, brought his muscles to thriving. On a gasp, he snapped his hips forward and came, as well. His entire body seemed to respond to the pleasure; it washed over him until he felt light-headed, his dick spurting out over their stomachs, coating Hawke in white. It looked dazzlingly bright against that flushed, golden skin. He huffed out Hawke’s name.

The fervor died, leaving him shaking and gasping and so full of energy he felt he could run miles. Hawke, on the other hand, flopped down as if he’d run marathons, his body quivering in the aftershock.

Hawke had sent out a bright burst of healing energy when he’d come. Unlike Danarius, who had pulled so much blood as to knock Fenris unconscious, Hawke had sent his power out, giving Fenris everything. An instinct. An instinct of his magic.

Fenris bent down and kissed Hawke hard. The man struggled to keep up with his tongue as it sucked the last of Hawke’s soul from his skin. His heart beat so hard, so freely, he thought it must have taken flight, raced over Thedas, proclaimed him to the world. He had never been so in love.

Hawke’s very instinct, his very magic, existed to heal Fenris. He cupped Hawke’s face in his hands and kissed his response back to the man – the only message his tongue felt able to send.

Me, too. Always.

If Hawke was his, then he was Hawke’s. Every part of his fractured soul.

He gave it willingly.

He gave it freely.

* * *

 

He was the one to clean them both off, even though Azzan flopped around as if to try to take care of them himself. Fenris had chuckled over the man’s attempts; they were little more than a toss, a turn, a waving hand, and a groan. It was gorgeous. Azzan’s half-opened lids, the dopey smile he gave as Fenris leaned over him to wipe the cum from his stomach and the sweat from his chest and neck and brow. Fenris kissed the man again and again as he rubbed him down; Hawke was bone-tired, even though it was morning. Fenris thought again of that final burst of magic and wondered how much it might have exhausted Hawke. That was Hawke; if ever there was something the man could give, he gave it. Fenris was lucky. Amazingly lucky. After everything that had gone wrong in his life – after this last heartbreak, where his very sister had betrayed him – still, he’d managed to find one thing right in this world.

It was enough to make him believe in a Maker.

Even though it was morning, Hawke had slipped into a light doze, and Fenris had left him to it. He dressed and left the room, closing the door softly behind him. And stood face-to-face with Orana. She blinked at him, hand raised as if to knock. She quickly lowered it. Fenris didn’t blush, used to this situation in another mansion, and Orana, likely used to the situation on her end for the same reason, simply curtsied. “Mas… sir. Breakfast awaits.”

He frowned. His stomach twisted at the quickly corrected term. Hawke had often quietly bemoaned Orana’s insistence on calling him master, yet the sound nearly made him sick, despite knowing Hawke had been trying to change it. “Just call me Fenris,” he said.

“Of course, sir,” she said, not missing a beat, and turned to let him take the lead down the stairs. To the dining hall? He stayed where he was.

“Let him rest,” he said. Orana nodded, not questioning his command. Because it had been a command. He took a deep breath. He understood her headspace. It was just, after so many years with Azzan, he would have hoped that she’d broken free, at least a little. He exhaled and headed down the stairs, only to hear her very quickly come up behind him.

He turned. Orana’s eyes were wide, her entire body folded in on itself, her fingers clasped before her chest as if to ward off a strike. “Is… is the master all right?”

He blinked. Oh. It was with a grin that he said, “he’s fine. We just had a… late start.”

Orana seemed to digest this without a qualm; it was usual for elves to have to warm their masters’ beds, and he supposed it wouldn’t be odd for her to think he’d come over to sate his friend’s appetite. Only, she bit her lip and shifted back and forth where she stood. “I… the master doesn’t do that,” she said. Her hands fisted slightly. “The master isn’t like that.”

 _Hawke. Hawke, Hawke – do you know what you’ve become to her?_ She must have misunderstood Hawke when he’d been speaking to them all the day before, informing them of Fenris’ new status with the household. She must have thought him a welcome guest, or a new servant, or something. Yet despite that, and despite how she’d been trained, she dared stand up against him when he left Hawke’s bedroom alone, with an order to leave the man unattended. Even Orana, who had no strength, who cowered in the corner and bowed to all who passed her – even she wanted to try to protect Hawke. Even she wanted to keep him safe, faced with Tevinter’s customs – faced with the idea that Fenris might have assassinated Hawke as he slept.

“No,” he said. “Hawke isn’t like that. But he and I – we are. Together.”

The words thrilled him. Together. She twisted her hands so tightly her fingers left lines of red on the backs of her palms. “I…” She looked down at his clothing – taking in the token, the emblem. Her mouth worked for a moment, and then she was bowing so low her ears pointed to the ceiling. “I’m so sorry, master. I didn’t understand what – it’s just that you’ve worn that for years and… I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head, even though he knew she couldn’t see. “No, it’s all right.” It hit him then, that the emblem really would mean something more now. Perhaps it might actually mean what it had been meant to mean when Hawke’s mother had gotten it made. The thought made his heart jump. Oddly, it was that which made him hesitate; he didn’t know how he felt to have his new relationship broadcast to the whole of Kirkwall. Then again, to the outside world, nothing would have changed. He’d been carrying these signs of their relationship for years; anything more – what it meant to them, how deeply it went – was for them alone. “This is a recent development.” Not really recent, he thought, but the words got her to stop trembling, at least. “And it… I’m glad,” he said, “that you care about him enough to place yourself in jeopardy like this.” She raised her head. He smiled for her. “He would be very proud of you.”

She blushed. The young elven woman ducked her head down again, but not before he caught a glimpse of a smile. “Thank you, master.” He wanted to correct her on the word, but didn’t know how to do so without getting another unwarranted apology. He hesitated for a few moments before allowing himself to be ushered downstairs. He managed to get about halfway down before he was greeted by a different voice.

“Good morning, serah Hawke! Another letter has arrived from–” Bodahn stopped abruptly at the sight of Fenris coming down the stairs. This time the blush nearly came; this man had ushered Fenris into Hawke’s home many times, but had never had cause to see him like this. The one-night stand had ended with Fenris racing from the mansion, Bodahn barely beginning to open his mouth before Fenris was out the door. This time, there was not only a far more sedate advance on his part, but also the knowledge that Bodahn had been informed to welcome Fenris like one of the family. He got to watch the older dwarf’s mouth flap for a second before he cleared his throat and said, “ah! Good morning, serah! I do hope your night was, ah, comfortable here.”

The blush dimmed. It was easier when the other person was more embarrassed than him. “Yes,” he said simply. “It was.” He tilted his head, remembering what Bodahn had been saying before he’d realized it was Fenris, and not Hawke, who was descending the stairs for the morning. His gaze flickered over to the desk, not truly interested in delving into Hawke’s personal matters, before it caught on the letter on the top. No address, no seal, no stamp. A simple, plain, white envelope, and nothing more. He held his breath. “Is that what I think it is?” he asked. His voice had lowered to a growl. He hurried down the rest of the steps.

“Ehm. If you mean, ‘is that from the unknown admirer,’ then yes–”

Fenris snatched the thing up before Bodahn could do little more than squawk a protest. He ripped it open and snapped out the paper, teeth bared, warm afterglow gone. Thanks to Hawke’s tireless efforts over the years, he had no trouble reading the words written sloppily on the parchment. The person writing had been in a state; ink splashed the edges, spilled thick through the letters.

 _You whore. You betrayer. You filth! I will have you rot for what you’ve done, for your teasing flesh and beguiling eyes. Tempter! Harlot!_ The words continued, endless raging that ended, finally, with _, you and your elven whore will wish you’d never set eyes on one another. I’ll fuck the touch of him off of you!_

On a roar, he crumpled the paper and threw it into the fire.

“Do not tell Hawke about this,” he said, whirling on the merchant dwarf. The man nodded with wide eyes. Fenris felt acid in his throat, claws tingling up and down his spine, digging into his stomach. The very thought of Hawke reading such things, of seeing such horrible insults – of seeing that threat after finally feeling release with another – he wouldn’t allow it. His nostrils flared at the very thought. Everything in him howled for action, for purpose.

Hawke had said, a long time ago, that he feared how Fenris staying over would be interpreted. Heedless to that concern, they’d both flung themselves at one another, in Hawke’s very bedroom. They’d slept together, woken in the morning and lain together – and they’d done so after Fenris had been in the house with Hawke all day, windows open. Hawke’s bedroom window open. Fenris paced before the dwarf, from hearth to Sandal and back. Aegis, Hawke’s faithful hound, raised his head and, after a moment, sat up, ears perked forward. Alert.

This couldn’t be allowed. He looked back up, toward Hawke’s door. Toward the room where Hawke slept, alone and unprotected. If Fenris left this house, left Hawke alone, who would protect him? Aegis? Against someone who, when Azzan faced him with Fenris and Isabela and Merrill all at his side, chose instead to accept the man’s vile touch rather than risk their lives?

Hawke was in danger. Hawke, the very man who had given of himself so completely just minutes before, was now trapped in the gaze of a man like Danarius.

Fenris’ heart beat nearly out of his chest. No. He wouldn’t let it happen.

He would never let it happen.

**Author's Note:**

> I expect no more than 5 or 6 parts after this. We're actually getting close to the end! I hope you all continue to enjoy this series up until its final piece!


End file.
